It's My Birthdaaaaayy!

"Thirty five is a very attractive age;
London society is full of women who have of their own free choice
remained thirty-five for years."
~Oscar Wilde

Alright. I'm thirty-five today. The word looks "old" on this screen. When my mom was thirty-five, she had a teenage daughter. Let me pick myself up off of the floor here. To be honest, the thirties have been the best time for me--I no longer obsess about my hair and I appreciate my husband for the man he is. On top of that, we had our boys. I think I'm going to take Oscar Wilde's advice and "stall" at thirty-five for the next 20 years!

I was thinking about my "birthdays past" and the one that stands out to me is such a surprising one; it's not my twenty-first, when I had a congo line party that flitted in and out of the bars in my hometown, and when a guy I went to high school with bought me my first shot-Wild Turkey--which I refused to drink. It's not my sixteenth, when I rented "Sixteen Candles" and "St. Elmo's Fire" and "Carrie" with my friends and basked in the knowledge that I would soon be a driver. It's my seventh birthday that stands out. And here's the thing. It's not that I remember a lot about it because I don't. I know that there was a birthday party with girls from school, but I only remember this because we have pictures of it, small snapshots of little girls wearing birthday hats and fancy dresses; me, in pink Garanimal pants and a matching shirt.

What I remember about my seventh birthday is getting a little ring, one with a cameo on it, and a pair of white sandals, and wearing them both to school. And I remember standing on the damp blacktop (it had just rained and was overcast so our recess was held in the parking lot instead of the playground), just feeling joyous and proud and grown. I remember going up to Miss Crow, the scariest first grade teacher (much older than the others, much stricter) who was on recess duty, and shyly showing her my ring, and I remember her grabbing my hand and leaning close and inspecting it, then telling me that I was a "lucky girl" and that my ring was "just beautiful." It was a bit like getting praise from Simon Cowell--it meant something because it came from someone who seemed so standoffish.

Oh, and I also remember getting a horse that year from my grandparents, which just makes me snicker because I was never a horsie kind of kid and I had no idea what to do with him other than ride him in a circle in my grandparent's yard (I was such an ingrate). I was more excited about the rabbit-shaped cake my grandmother made me. The horse was white and named Tinkerbell, by the way--I would've traded him for a motorcycle in a second (which is what I got two years later).

Today, I'm going to celebrate by doing all of the things that I love. I'm going to take a bubble bath and burn Sugar Cookie scented candles. I'm going to wrap my arms around my husband's neck and tell him how much I love him. I'm going to hold my two year old down on the floor and tickle his belly with my nose because he laughs really hard and deep when I do that and his laughter is contagious. I'm going to read with my four year old because the attention just delights him and he becomes absolutely giddy when I call out words and he can find them on the pages. I'm going to jump rope for a couple of minutes because it gets my heart rate up and it makes me feel like I'm on the cusp of being physically fit. I'm going to read all of my favorite blogs and feel grateful that I can call many of their writers "friends."

Oh, and one of the best gifts of all today? Matt DiGangi, an editor, is publishing my short story, "Take My Kids and My Ravioli, Too," in his quirky online literary magazine. If you're interested in reading it, click here!

Edit: Because I never messed with timer thing on Blogger, my posts were apparently off by many hours; I've fixed this. My birthday is really TODAY--your lovely wishes have not been belated at all! Thank you so much. I'm so lucky to know you guys! Thank you! xo